


oh god, now what did i say? (let me start over again!)

by badmeetsevil



Category: 1917 (Movie 2019)
Genre: Christmas Lights, Falling in Love by Falling Off of Ladders, First Date, Flirting, Love at First Sight, M/M, Meet-Cute, oh no i hope i dont fall!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-15
Updated: 2020-12-15
Packaged: 2021-03-11 05:40:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,420
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28080060
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/badmeetsevil/pseuds/badmeetsevil
Summary: Tom loves watching people decorate their homes with Christmas lights and those big, blown up, bright snowmen and Santa Claus decorations. It makes him feel like a child again, and his heart swells with adoration every time he sees them. He loves them so much that he went out of his way to go out to the shops and purchase a bundle of lights for himself.Blakefield Winter Wonderland: Day 14, Christmas Lights
Relationships: Tom Blake/William Schofield
Comments: 5
Kudos: 25
Collections: Walking In A Blakefield Wonderland





	oh god, now what did i say? (let me start over again!)

**Author's Note:**

> GROWL SNARL I LOVE THIS FIC!!!!!!!!!!!
> 
> this is, again, for my wonderful girlfriend maddie who i love to bits!!!!!! i love you!!!!!!!
> 
> title from love at first sight by the brobecks!!!!!

When Tom says he loves Christmas, he means he _loves_ Christmas. 

He loves every single thing about the holidays. He loves the snow and watching it fall from the warmth of his bedroom, nursing a hot cup of tea early in the morning. He loved decorating the tree with his family when he lived back home, and he loves decorating his own little tree now that he lives on his own. He loves the ugly Christmas jumpers with the pom-poms and the disgusting tinsel that seems to coat all of them and the ones that are just a little too much for a holiday work party, and the itch that comes with wearing them for too long. 

He loves the home cooked meals and spending time with family and he loves giving people gifts for the holidays. He recalls once buying Joe a fake gift that he knew he wouldn’t like and then immediately giving him his real gift that he loved, and the laughs that came with that. 

He loves Christmas. He loves the holidays. 

But, what he loves the most about the holidays, are the lights. 

Tom loves watching people decorate their homes with Christmas lights and those big, blown up, bright snowmen and Santa Claus decorations. It makes him feel like a child again, and his heart swells with adoration every time he sees them. He loves them so much that he went out of his way to go out to the shops and purchase a bundle of lights for himself. 

Nothing too spectacular, just some tiny red and green bulbs to put up outside of his window of his second-floor flat. He got permission from his landlord, a fine older gentleman called Colin, to wrap the bannister of the entrance of the building in white lights (which he most certainly didn’t squeal and nearly jump up and down with joy when he received the message, no, not at all!) He’s got his ladder, some light clips, and the water for his tea waiting in the kettle on the stove. 

The bannister lights were simple enough, he wrapped them around all the little nooks and crannies of the metal railing, and plugged them into an extension cord that his landlord provided him with. When he gave him the extension cord, he smiled at Tom and swore he saw the youthfulness of his youngest son in Tom’s excited blue eyes. 

The lights on his window were going to prove a little more difficult. He didn’t have anyone to hold the ladder steady, and he hasn’t hung lights on his window in years. He wasn’t even sure if he knew how to do it still. He figured it couldn’t be too hard, right? Place the string where you wanted, hold it steady, and clip it on, right? He could throw the part he had to plug in into his window and attach that to the wall, and then boom! Lights!

Tom assumed it would be difficult, he didn’t assume it would bring him here.

He’s on the near top of the ladder, reaching with all of his might, as far as he can, to his window. He’s just the slightest bit too far back. He’s got one side of the window’s perimeter covered with lights, and he smiles when he sees them rest there against the fiberglass. He can already imagine the bright red and green lights in the winter nights, when he’s walking home from class or from work, and he nearly wants to jump with joy. 

The other side is more difficult. It’s on the side of Tom’s non-dominant hand, and when he reaches to the left, the ladder seems to slip. It frightens him a little bit, but it doesn’t frighten him enough to the point of stopping. He’s never been the brightest lad of them all. 

He leans, and he gets a hold of the window sill. One more quick lean and he’s got the whole top of the frame with a frame of its own, a frame of soon-to-be pretty red and green twinkling lights. 

Just one more thing to set up. A little more of a reach, just a little more… and he’s suddenly got nothing underneath him holding him up.

He hits the ground with a loud _thud!_ and an _“oof!”_ His hand quickly goes up to cradle the back of his head, which luckily didn’t hit the ground first. “Fuck…” He mumbles, rubbing the back of his sore head. His bones feel stiff, and his back, which hit the ground first, aches just a little bit. But, he looks up towards the window and the ladder to see either, 1) if the ladder crashed down, or 2) if the lights fell and he would have to do all of that over again. 

Neither of those things have happened, but he does see a third thing that he didn’t expect to see. A kind face, with ocean blue eyes that Tom thinks he could swim in, and a concerned look in that ocean. His face is gentle, albeit a bit shaken up. Tom doesn’t say anything for a moment, just looks into those blue eyes. 

“Are you alright?” The man asks, voice soft like the first snowfall of the season, “You took quite a tumble there.” 

Tom still doesn’t say anything, just studying this man’s face. He’s handsome, Tom comes to the conclusion, and he certainly hopes this isn’t Heaven, that he hasn’t fallen off the ladder and somehow died from the crash, because he would like to invite this man in for tea, or take him on a date. 

“Can you hear me?” He asks again.

Tom shakes his head, like he’s trying to jog his memory of how to speak, and he laughs, “I think I have butterflies in my stomach.” He doesn’t mean to say it, he means to say _“Oh, yes! I’m fine!”_ Or even a simple _“You’re quite handsome, you know?”_ but it comes out that way. 

The man’s face drops from quiet concern to downright fear. “Do you think you’ve got a concussion?” He’s sinking to his knees and cradling Tom’s head, and Tom thinks he’s in a movie. He could fall over and die right now, if he’s not already in Heaven. “Do you know your name?” He asks gently, touching the back of his head with such care, like Tom’s a skittish lamb. 

Tom laughs, “I’m Tom, Tom Blake, I’m far more interested in what your name is, though.” 

The corners of the stranger’s lips seem to twitch up into a smirk at that. Worry is still written all over his face with the wideness of his eyes, but he can’t deny the little smile that the flirtatious joke gives him. “You’re a cheeky thing, aren’t you?” He laughs, and Tom smiles at him, shrugs his shoulders, and the stranger rolls his eyes. 

“Are you gonna give me the pleasure of learning your name?” 

“Once you give me the pleasure of proving you don’t have a concussion.” 

Tom laughs, and he brings himself to his feet, a little wobbly from his sudden fall, but the stranger is happy to stand there and steady him with a hand on his arm and back. He stands straight, and searches for his keys in his pocket, and luckily, they’re still lodged in the pocket of his thin sweatshirt and haven’t tumbled onto the pavement. “Do you think you could help me upstairs with the ladder?” Tom asks him.

The blue eyed stranger smiles, “Are you gonna try to flirt with me again?”

“Only if you’ll let me,” Tom says, and he winks. The blue eyes sparkle and he smiles wide and beautiful, and Tom prays, prays that this man will stay for lunch, or at least have tea with him. 

The taller man, _oh_ , Tom only just now realized how much taller this man is than him, and that seems to make _more_ butterflies appear in his tummy, gathers up the ladder for him, and helps Tom into the building with it. Tom leads him with his voice, “I’m on the second floor, it’s the only door on the right!” 

He waits there patiently, a smile spread across his red cheeks, and Tom laughs when he unlocks the door and he gestures for him to go in first. He does, moving slowly, carefully, careful not to slam the ladder against the wall or the door or any furniture. “Where do you want this?” He asks.

Tom enters and shuts the door slowly behind him, careful not to slam it and alarm the dogs in the flat above him. “Just lean it against the bare wall,” Tom instructs, gesturing vaguely into the kitchen, and he figures out where to place it, so that it doesn’t obstruct any doorways or the pantry door. “Thank you,” Tom tells him, a sincere smile gracing his features. 

“Not a problem,” He replies, matching the sincerity of his smile. 

“Now,” Tom starts, approaching him with a smile, turning the front burner on to start heating up his water for his tea in the process, “I do believe you owe me something, Mr. Stranger?”

The blue eyed stranger laughs, and he rolls his eyes playfully, “That is my name. First name Mister, last name Stranger.” 

“Very funny,” Tom says, and he leans against the counter with his arms crossed over his chest, and the stranger jokingly sticks his tongue out at him. “C’mon, you know my name, I let you into my home, the least I wanna know is who I’m joyfully spending my time with right now!” He says, gesturing dramatically with his hands, “I’d also like to be able to have the comfort of knowing that you’re not going to murder me!” 

He laughs, “You just wanna know the name of the man who ‘gave you butterflies’ when you fell.” And yeah, he’s got a point, but he’s polite and he’s handsome and he’s funny, how could Tom not want to know more about him? 

“Please?” Tom asks with a laugh, bursting into his best puppy eyes and a little bit of a pout. 

He smiles, genuine fondness seeping through every bit of his face, “How do you expect me to say no to that face?” 

“I don’t expect you to say no,” Tom says seriously, and he makes the stranger laugh again. He should be keeping score. 

“I’m William. William Schofield, or Will, whichever you prefer.”

 _William_. It makes sense. It fits him. It’s the name of a gentleman. Whenever someone thinks up someone who is very traditionally kind and sweet to others, the first name that comes to mind, at least for Tom, is William. He smiles at him. 

“Fits you.”

“Does it now?” Will laughs. 

“Yeah, very handsome,” Tom tells him, and when he turns to take his kettle off the burner, he swears he sees the littlest bit of a blush high on his cheekbones. “Would you stay for tea? It’s the least I can do to pay you back for helping me.”

Will’s face returns to that gentle expression, one of pure kindness and fondness, one that is just so unbelievably handsome to Tom, and he nods. “I’d love to,” he answers, and Tom nearly fist pumps in the air. In fact, Tom’s sure he balled up his fist by his side in response. 

Tom pours them both cups of tea, the hot air escaping from the kettle with a little whistle that both of them seem familiar with. “Honey, sugar, lemon?” Tom asks.

Will laughs, “For a second there, I thought you were just calling me terms of endearment.” Tom giggles, high and warm in his chest, and Will answers his question, “Sprinkle of sugar, little bit of honey, if you’ve got it?” 

“A sweet man, aren’t you?” 

“What can I say? They say it fits me.”

Tom looks at him over his shoulder, and he doesn’t try to fight the enamored look on his face when he sees Will’s playful expression. He sprinkles a bit of sugar into his tea, and a squeeze of honey, and hands the mug off to Will with a teaspoon in it, so he can stir to his liking. 

Will takes a sip, and the night goes from there. 

They spend practically all day talking, sharing stories, talking about their holiday plans. Turns out, Will goes to the same university as Tom, he’s just two years above him. Will just turned twenty-one, and lives on campus with a dear friend named Charles Cooke, whose name rings a bell in Tom’s head. When he asks about him, Will explains that he’s the kid who crashed his bike into the bushes the other day and simply lied there for about ten minutes. This recognition makes Tom laugh so hard he nearly drops his mug. 

There’s a passage of a bit of time where neither of them really say anything. They just sit on the couch, and they happily enjoy each other’s company. Sometimes Tom glances over at Will through the side of his eye, and sees him happily twiddling his fingers with one hand and scrolling on his phone with the other.

Tom wants to watch him all night. He’s not sure why, he’s not sure why he catches his attention and holds it so well. 

Will sits with his sock-clad feet on the couch, knees pulled up to his chest, and arms around his legs, like a happy child. He looks so relaxed, and he talks with his hands, and he laughs loud when Tom tells him stories. He’s so content. There’s not an ounce of stress or tension in his shoulders.

Tom tells him one particular story about going for a meal with a few friends a few Christmasses ago and his dear friend Lauri had a whole elaborate plan to ask out their pretty waitress, but the waitress was so stacked with tables that when Laurie finally got up the courage to ask her for her name, she quickly asked them to leave because the line was getting too long. He remembers the taste of liquor from the corner store far too well from that night. 

Will laughs so hard he nearly cries.

Tom has a feeling he doesn’t do that too often. 

Tom tells Will all about the things he does for Christmas, the things he loves about the holidays, and how he came to love the holiday. He loved growing up and playing in the snow and goofing off with his brother. He happily recalls a memory where he pressed snow into his brother’s face and was then tackled into a deep pit of the white layer. 

He tells him about how excited he was to be able to put up the lights, and Will buts in and tells him that he was just happy to be there to make sure he didn’t hurt himself. Tom’s not entirely sure why that makes his cheeks heat up, or why it causes him to stutter over his words when he asks Will if he wants another cup of tea. 

Will smiles at him, and he happily accepts the offer. 

It’s ten at night before either of them recognize the passing of time. “Oh, God,” Will says, putting his empty mug on the coffee table, after his third cup of tea, “I must get going, Cooke’s probably waiting for me to let him in.”

“Oh, he doesn’t have a key?”

“He often forgets it.”

Tom laughs. 

Tom walks Will to the door, and he stops there for a moment. Will turns and leans on the front door, looks at Tom with a smile, and tells him, “Are you sure you haven’t got a concussion?”

“I’m as certain as I’ve been about anything in my life,” Tom tells him, laughs with him, and suddenly Will’s hand is finding his shoulder. He rests it there for a moment, rather awkwardly, while Tom’s hand goes to cover it. It runs up his neck, and Tom jumps at the brushing of skin.

“Can I kiss-,” Will starts, but is happily interrupted. 

Tom dives in, stands high on his tippy-toes, and presses their lips together. The kiss is gentle, slow and warm, soft and light. Tom’s hand goes up to cup Will’s jaw, and Will’s hands rest on Tom, one gently caressing his neck, and the other holding his waist. Will breaks away first, and Tom breathlessly asks, “Are you sure you have to go? I-I’ve got a DVD rack full of Christmas films if you want to stay.”

Will laughs, kisses him again, “I’d love to, I’d absolutely love to, but Cooke’ll have my head on a spike if I don’t get home to let him in.” Tom frowns, puts on his pouty, puppy dog look again, and Will laughs. “I’ve gotta go. I don’t wait to, but I’ve got to.” 

“Can I have your number, I’d, uh, I’d really like to see you again,” Tom tells him, and Will smiles, pinches his blushing cheek and makes him laugh, a bubbly giggle in his chest. Tom hands over his cellphone, and Will quickly types his number into his contacts. “Thank you, William, I had a really lovely night.”

“I did too, Thomas,” Will says, and Tom rolls his eyes, reaching up to peck him on the lips again. “I’ll see you soon, yeah?” Will asks, a hint of something sad in his voice, sounding worried that Tom doesn’t actually want to see him again, but a bright smile graces his face when Tom enthusiastically nods towards him. 

“I’ll see you soon,” Tom confirms, and Will kisses him again, makes him laugh, almost swallows half of his sentence. Will turns to open the door, and steps into the hallway, before Tom’s voice pipes up, sticking his head into the hallway. “Oh! When you get outside, can you tell me how the lights on my windows look?” Tom asks, and Will looks at him, at his expression of pure joy over something like lights outside of his flat window.

He nods, “Of course.”

Tom beams like Christmas lights fill his teeth. 

Tom shuts the door and scurries over to the window, opening it slowly and sticking his head out into the cold night. The sudden chill in the air makes his eyes water, and he wipes them with the sleeve of his jumper. Will appears at the bottom of the steps, and he moves, with a pep in his step, to face Tom’s window. He gives him a thumbs up in the streetlight, and Tom smiles. 

He bends over, plugs the lights into the extension cord, stands up, and extends his arms as if to say _Voila!_

Will looks at him, looks at the lights, looks at him, blinks, and asks, “Are they plugged in?”

“What?”

“The lights, a-are they plugged in?” 

Tom sticks his head out further, looks to the side, and sure as shit, absolutely none of them are lit up. All that work, and a concussion scare, for absolutely no results! “Fuck!” Tom exclaims, and the dogs upstairs start barking loudly. Tom throws his hand over his mouth, and Will laughs hysterically on the sidewalk, holds onto the lamppost for support so he doesn’t topple over. 

“I gotta get new lights, _and_ I gotta do all this shit again?” Tom asks, sound frustrated but still laughing warmly as he touches the broken lights. 

“I’d be happy to make sure I catch you when you fall off the ladder!” Will calls out to him.

“I’d be happy to have you there!” Tom replies, starting to try to tear the lights off of the window frame, but they mostly just dangle from places that he can’t reach. He hangs his head in disappointment, but Will’s laugh picks his head right back up. He looks at him, and he smiles bright. Brighter than he thinks he ever has. 

“Goodnight, Tom,” Will tells him, sticking cold hands into his warm jacket pockets, and smiling up at him. A shiver runs through him at the bitter air of the night, and Tom just wants to run downstairs, grab him, and bring him back inside. He wants to keep him warm. 

“Goodnight, Will!” Tom tells him, and he goes to slowly shut the window when Will walks off. But, he sticks his head out the window and turns to face him. He calls out, voice bright and happy, “I’ll call you!” 

Will turns around, and he matches that smile.


End file.
